


The Meaning of Valentine's Day

by Jade56



Category: Jeeves & Wooster, Jeeves - P. G. Wodehouse
Genre: Drones Club, Drunkenness, Established Relationship, Feelings, Fluff, Friendship, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Jeeves POV, Kissing, Love, M/M, Period Typical Attitudes, Valentine's Day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-14
Updated: 2017-02-14
Packaged: 2018-09-24 10:02:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9716738
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jade56/pseuds/Jade56
Summary: Early in the morning after Valentine’s Day, Jeeves is called to pick up his employer from the Drones club, and finds that Bertie, along with other club members, got roaring drunk through the night. Apparently, they all had reason to be upset about the holiday, even Mr. Wooster.But he and Jeeves have already confessed their feelings for each other and are in an intimate relationship, so why was Bertie upset on Valentine’s Day?





	

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Valentine's Day to everyone! All my love to you all!! <3
> 
> By the way, for anyone who hasn't heard yet, I'm going to run a Jeeves & Wooster gift exchange on Tumblr in the near future. If you are interested, check it out [here](https://jeevesandwoosterexchange.tumblr.com). :)
> 
> Anyway, on with the fluff! I hope you enjoy it~!

I was well aware that a night of considerable energy and amusement must have been had in the Drones Club, if my employer required me to retrieve him from the club in the early hours of morning. The call I received was from the barman, Mr. McGarry, with whom I have some little acquaintance, and who noted that Mr. Wooster had asked for my assistance, being in no condition to return himself to his flat.

Though not unheard of, this sort of request was rare from my master, who generally celebrated in moderation. The club must have hosted a fete of substantial scope for him to become so affected. Being aware of the revelry that had undoubtedly occurred, I knew it was not an implausible notion that I would find an establishment in a less than orderly state when I reached the club. Indeed, I suspected that I would find club members fairly affected by the previous night’s indulgence. Perhaps a few chairs would be out of place.

I must admit that, on this occasion, I made an underestimation.

The Drones Club was cloudy and pungent with the smoke of cigars. Despite the grey mist, I could see that furniture of every description had been overturned, and that this was also true of club members, several of whom were inelegantly supine on the floor. Some of them had made the attempt to sit on the overturned chairs, though none of them had apparently been successful. One determined gentleman was still standing, dancing to a waltz with a table lamp. I am sorry to say that this dance was out of step with the music that was softly playing from somewhere in the club.

Some of the gentlemen present were incapacitated, but not all. Several of them managed to speak to one another, yet they did little more than chuckle at every word, speaking in muddled, uneven tones. Two gentlemen were giggling in a corner, sitting on the ground in disturbingly rumpled suits and pointing enthusiastically at the light fixture in the middle of the ceiling.

One of these two gentlemen was my master, and the other I knew as his friend, Richard “Bingo” Little.

“Oh, Jeeves!” my master called, once I had become close enough for him to discern me through the thick air. “What are you doing here, dear thing?”

That light endearment, spoken so casually by my employer and the man who was secretly my heart, might have been dangerous in another place, or at another time. My master and I had long ago pledged ourselves to each other, a wonderful fact that continued to astonish me, but given the views of our society, we could not allow the nature of our relationship to become public knowledge. For a moment, I stiffened in alarm, though I quickly understood that we were not in danger. The club members were generally not in possession of any degree of alertness. Mr. Little did not cause me concern either, for he was deeply occupied in gazing at the light fixture.

“I think it’s worth a try,” Mr. Little commented. “That thing out to hold up for two or three swings, at least.”

As the light fixture hanging from the ceiling was fairly high above the ground, I am not certain how one would attempt to use it as a swing, as I supposed was the implication of Mr. Little’s statement. Not being terribly interested in this idea, and not wishing my master to be involved in any such undertaking, I swiftly lowered my head near Mr. Wooster, to gain his attention.

“Sir, Mr. McGarry informed me that you were in a fatigued state,” I said, leniently, “and required some assistance in returning home.”

Cheerfully, Mr. Wooster beamed. “Oh, George called you over? That’s jolly good thinking of him. I believe I could use a helping hand.”

I neglected to remind my master that he had been the one to request the call. “Indeed, sir.”

Suddenly, Mr. Little shook as if startled, and stared at me. “Jeeves! Where did you come from? How did you just appear like that?”

Exerting some effort, I resisted rolling my eyes in exasperation.

“Oh, Jeeves always does that,” my master claimed. “He’ll leg right into a place without making a sound. He floats, don’t you know.”

“I didn’t see him float in,” Mr. Little retorted. “He just… happened. He wasn’t there, and now he is.”

“Mr. Little, I arrived only a moment ago. You must have missed my entrance. Sir,” I said, turning to my master, “one wonders if you are able to stand?”

“Hmm. Stand, you say?” Mr. Wooster flexed his legs, making a promising start, but his fortitude failed him, and he did not persist in an attempt to rise to his feet. Instead, tapping his chin and grinning exuberantly, Mr. Wooster assumed a form that struck me as being like a caricature of a man deep in thought. “No, I’m not all for standing. I must object to standing. The Standing Party cannot claim the support of this Wooster.”

Mr. Little laughed. “Can you imagine, Bertie, if you were _standing_ for some election for the Standing Party?”

Distinctly unimpressed by this remark, my master clapped his companion’s knee with great emotion. “Didn’t you hear me, you old blighter? Of course I’m not going to stand for the Standing Party. I object to all the party stands for.” The sentence was barely finished before my master burst out into uncontrolled laughter.

Bemused by these ramblings, I was shocked to observe how affected my master had become by drink. Remembering his initial greeting to me, which had been overly affectionate, I resolved not to allow him to say or do anything ruinous in his condition. I needed to bring him to the flat, to see that he was properly cared for and had plenty of sleep.

“Sir, I really must insist that you be brought home.”

“Hmm. Home.” The word must have had some appeal to Mr. Wooster, who brightened considerably as he uttered it. There was a dazed aspect to his smile, which was undoubtedly caused by drink. His cheeks were flushed pink, again, probably on account of whatever he had consumed. Even so, he was beautiful as he reached for my hand.

Briefly, I was stunned motionless by his enchanting smile and glowing face. Though still entranced, I quickly attempted to recompose myself, and helped my master to his feet.

“Yes, bring me home, Jeeves,” he said softly, and then he slowly wrapped his arms around me, and gently kissed me.

I was almost instantly lost in the feeling of his lips against mine. Although I should have immediately pushed him away, it was too easy to give in to the divine feeling of being kissed by my genial, vibrant employer. The taste of spirits was not particularly pleasant, but aside from that, there was the sweetness that I knew belonged to my young master, and the familiar hands that lightly touched the back of my head felt magnificent.

Considering that I ought to have been alarmed, it is difficult to admit to the warmth that filled me in that brief moment. Heat suffused my body and spirit. I must not have been thinking at all, for I deepened the kiss. Lulled by the air of discretion afforded by the hazy smoke, the preoccupation of the club’s members, and the soft feeling of him against me, it was as if I, too, had become intoxicated.

There was an indecorous chortle, which startled me at last into ending the enticing kiss.

The sound had come from Mr. Little, who was smirking plainly. “Hot stuff, old chap.”

I would have much preferred to be reminded about our circumstances in some other fashion, but in any case, Mr. Little had brought me sharply back to my senses. Quickly assessing the damage, I saw that, save for him, none of the preoccupied and inattentive gentlemen in the hazy club had noticed what had occurred.

Mr. Little alone was enough to pose a threat, however, to the secrecy that we relied on. I knew that I needed to address that threat at once. Opening my mouth to explain what he had just seen, it struck me that I could only manage to close my mouth and open it again in vain. I was at a loss for words. All I could think about was Mr. Wooster asking me to bring him home, moving up against me, kissing me.

“Oh, you thought it was hot stuff?” My master, far less anxious than I was, said proudly to his friend. “Well, you know what they say,” he remarked, glancing lazily around the smoke-filled room, and then grinning at me. “There’s no smoke without fire.”

When he gave me that passionate look, and uttered those daring words, I might have blushed somewhat.

“Must be an awful lot of fire between you two. It’s awfully smoky in here.” Mr. Little did not sound angry with us, which was reassuring, though I feared his relaxed attitude might have been temporary, due only to the drink in his hand. My understanding of Mr. Little’s psychology was not complete enough to say for sure how he would look on the event as a sober man.

“Is it too smoky in here? Maybe we should turn it down a bit, eh, Jeeves?” Always an expressive conversationalist, my employer waved his hand through the air for dramatic effect.

I began to wonder if, in their confused states, either of the two gentlemen sincerely thought Mr. Wooster and I to be responsible for the smoke. “The expression is merely an idiom,” I felt compelled to remind them, “one that suggests that there is likely to be some truth to a rumour, in much the same manner that there is likely to be fire where there is smoke.”

It irked me that I had been so quick to explain an idiom and yet still could not find the words to excuse the kiss that Mr. Little had witnessed.

Mr. Wooster huffed. “I knew that, Jeeves!”

“I didn’t,” remarked Mr. Little. “Oh, I see!” he cried suddenly with some breakthrough, arresting our attention. “That works too! I’d heard talk of you, Bertie. Always running from those girls when things got serious. I suppose there was truth to all that gossip.”

“No,” I said swiftly, having at last found the presence of mind to do what was necessary. “You are mistaken in your conclusions. Mr. Wooster was not thinking clearly, Mr. Little. One can readily observe that he is in an unhealthy state, and that he could not have known what he was doing a moment ago.”

It occurred to me that Mr. Wooster, his mind being muddled at the moment, might fall prey to his characteristic honesty and try to disagree with me. As it turned out, I needn’t have worried, because at some point in time, Mr. Wooster had slunk back to the ground, and now seemed to be sleeping.

“I can’t believe you have someone on Valentine’s Day, Bertie,” Mr. Little remarked to my master, as if I had said nothing, and Mr. Wooster’s eyes were not obviously closed, “and I don’t! Well, I’ll be happy for you, I suppose. I didn’t expect you to end up with Jeeves, I must say, but at least you have what you want, Bertie. I wish I could say the same for myself.”

Sighing with dramatic woe, Mr. Little took a swig of the drink in his hand.

Considering Mr. Little’s lament, I understood suddenly what had happened in the Drones Club.

“This excess,” I said, beholding the room around me with newfound comprehension, regarding some enterprising but unfocused gentlemen trying to turn chairs over and others chuckling at their befuddled compatriots, “was because of the holiday.”

“Oh, absolutely. There are a lot of chaps here like me, unhappily alone on this blasted holiday. Plus, a few of these coves were set up with girls and weren’t happy about it, so they came here too. There’s nothing like a bash with friends to make a bad day better, what? I don’t know why Bertie’s here though, if he’s got you, and happy about it as all that.” He smirked again, and made an absurd and immature imitation of a kiss.

“You are mistaken, Mr. Little.” I was troubled by what Mr. Little had told me—I was certain something unpleasant must have pushed Mr. Wooster to this indulgence, if disappointment and unease had been the driving force for these other gentlemen—but my first priority was to maintain our secrecy and safety. “Mr. Wooster and I are not intimately involved with each other.”

Confused, Mr. Little tilted his head. “Oh, am I wrong? Didn’t you two kiss? Blast, I do get mixed up about things when I’ve had a bit of the sauce.”

“You are indeed mistaken, Mr. Little. Nothing of the kind transpired.”

“Oh, all right.” Thankfully, Mr. Little appeared convinced. He glanced again at the light fixture hanging from the ceiling. “Oh, oh! There was something I wanted to do with that whatsit, wasn’t there?”

Relieved that the situation had been dealt with, for the time being, I turned back to my napping employer. Gently, I touched his shoulder and spoke to him in a mild, measured voice that would not disturb him unduly.

“Sir, it is time for us to leave.”

Gradually, he returned to consciousness. “Oh, very well.” His voice was still somewhat slurred, but it was more coherent than before. The nap had done him a little good.

With great care, I helped Mr. Wooster up to a vertical position again, attempting not to be captivated by his beauty and charm this time. I managed to guide my master to the door, in addition to retrieving his coat and hat for him.

Bothered by what Mr. Little had told me, I asked, quietly, “Sir, were you distressed by the holiday?”

“What holiday? Is it a holiday?”

“Yesterday was Valentine’s Day, sir.”

“Oh, to hell with Valentine’s Day. It’s a horrendous day.” As we exited the building, Mr. Wooster said, in a hushed voice, “Did you see all the couples walking arm-in-arm? They’re a gang of bounders, the awful lot of them. If I can’t walk with my sweetheart in my arm, then what’s the point?”

All too well, I understood his feelings. “We have each other, Bertie,” I whispered, when we were far enough from anyone who might overhear. “I am grateful for that.”

Mr. Wooster braved a smile. “I guess I should be grateful, too. I wish I didn’t have to suffer through this holiday, though. I don’t need a day lifting up romance between men and women, I dare say.”

“It might help you to look at the holiday in a different light,” I suggested, determined to help the man I cherished. “One can celebrate a holiday as one sees fit. Let the meaning of this holiday be, for us, a celebration of love, all love, between all people.”

“Oh?” Mr. Wooster sounded pleased. “I like the sound of that. But other people won’t see it that way.”

“That is true, sir, yet it need not take away from what the holiday means to you.” Deep in contemplation, I took a deep breath of the cold February air. “Nobody can take away the love that burns between us, come what may, and was there ever anything more deserving of celebration than the sweet song of the crackling flames of everlasting love?”

“Oh, Jeeves, ever my lovely poet,” Mr. Wooster said, happily, making me feel deeply joyous and gratified. “Thank you. I do feel better.”

“I’m glad to hear it, sir.”

Clearly taking full advantage of his present status as an unsteady, fatigued gentleman leaning on his helpful valet, my master pressed against my arm, and murmured, “Thank you, Reggie. I love you.”

I felt warm again all over, much as I had when we kissed before. “I love you, Bertie,” I murmured in return, enjoying the physical closeness afforded to us by the situation. After that, I spoke more loudly. “The cab will be here in just a moment, sir.”

Indeed, the cab soon pulled up. I opened the door for my master. He allowed me to guide him into the cab. “Maybe Valentine’s Day isn’t so bad,” he said, holding my arm closely. “This is a holiday for love. Love is a good thing, right?”

“Yes, sir,” I replied, possibly blushing once more.

“I just thought of something. Well, if I can call it thinking, what with being blotto and all. Well, you know, Bingo is a good chum of mine. Good, solid friendship is a kind of love, isn’t it? I can’t forget about someone I love, even if it’s him. Once you’ve bunged me into the cab, do you mind fetching Bingo and bunging the old brick right in after me? He’ll want to come along. I don’t think he wants to be alone, poor blot.”

My employer has a kind heart, and is the noblest of friends. “Very good, sir.”

Promising that I would be swift to return, I ventured back into the smoke-filled club, and found Mr. Little exactly where had been previously. I was grateful that he had made no efforts concerning the light fixture.

My reappearance startled Mr. Little. “Where the deuce did you come from, Jeeves?” he demanded, jolting upright. “You could give a man a heart attack, you know!”

“I am bringing Mr. Wooster home, and he has invited you to join him.”

“Oh. Splendid! That’ll be a sight better than this mess. Bertie’s a good pal. Nice chap.”

Refraining from emphatically agreeing and expounding at length on the subject of Mr. Wooster’s virtues, I silently took the drink away from his hand, and provided a supportive arm for Mr. Little.

“And you’re a decent bloke yourself, Jeeves,” he added, taking my arm. “You’re lucky to have each other, the two of you.”

Shaken by what this might mean, I paused.

“Oh, don’t worry, I didn’t see anything. I’m smashed, you know! Now come on, Bertie’s waiting, isn’t he? We’re going to have a proper party, the three of us! Say, do you like charades? A genius like you, you’d be brilliant.”

I was stunned by his broadminded leniency, and his friendly proposal. As a valet, one is obliged to retain a serious, politely reserved expression; despite this, I found myself smiling as I accompanied Mr. Little to the cab where Mr. Wooster was waiting.

My master was blithely happy to see us. Once reunited, he and his friend quickly resumed the nonsensical giggling they had been engaged in within the club.

Evidently, Mr. Little and my master would both require rest, and certainly they would benefit from a particular concoction I was capable of producing. Such a concoction could treat that condition which Mr. Wooster sometimes refers to as a ‘morning head,’ an ailment that often follows considerable consumption of strong drink.

However, if, later, after they had each recovered from their daze and had a mouthful of my restorative, the three of us enjoyed a proper party as Mr. Little had suggested, I would not object.

It pleased me to think of Bertie enjoying himself with two individuals he cared about. Mr. Wooster deserved a worthy celebration for Valentine’s Day, even if it would be just a day late.

End~


End file.
